Watchmen of Rome

by Watchmen of Rome (retail) (epub)

  Carbo glanced at Rufa. She had paled a little and was watching with her mouth tight.

  ‘Deserters,’ said Carbo. ‘They deserve it. Leaving their comrades to fight and die in their place. They are lucky – they are Roman citizens and so get a quick and honourable death.’

  Rufa said nothing, and they continued to watch. The second victim was dispatched with similar aplomb. Whether the third prisoner moved at the last minute, or the executioner’s arm was tiring, Carbo wasn’t sure, but this time the sword did not slice through cleanly, instead wedging in the bones at the back of the skull and the top of the neck. They could hear the executioner’s curses as he tried to pull his sword free, one foot on the feebly struggling prisoner’s back. Finally it came loose and the prisoner slumped face forward on the arena sand. The executioner swung his sword again, but with the prisoner lying down the sword was stopped by the sandy ground before it had cut fully through.

  To boos from the crowd, the executioner made his assistant hold the head off the ground, and he used his sword to slowly saw through the neck. The crowd grew restless and started to throw food and rubbish at the executioner, who gestured back at them angrily. Eventually the head came loose and the cheer from the crowd this time was dripping with irony.

  Clowns and jugglers emerged, vainly attempting to raise the spirits of the crowd, while slaves came out to drag the bodies away and sprinkle more sand over the blood.

  Carbo and Rufa munched their dates. The man next to Carbo nudged him in the ribs. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s my first games for a while. Does it get better?’

  ‘Tomorrow is the last day of the games and it should be spectacular. The whole of Rome will be out for that. Everything until then is just makeweight. I mean, look at those executions. Pretty poor showing, wasn’t it?’

  Carbo nodded. ‘Can’t be easy, though, getting it right every time. A man’s neck can be pretty tough to slice through. I should know.’

  The man looked askance at Carbo, digesting his words, then decided to change the topic. He stamped on the temporary structure firmly.

  ‘They seem to have built this one sturdily, at least. Not like the arena at Fidenae earlier this year.’

  Carbo nodded. The disaster had claimed twenty thousand lives. An old man on the other side of them who had heard the conversation, though, leaned over and said, ‘They may have brought new laws in to prevent it happening again, but it’s an unlucky year. The Emperor has quit Rome, leaving us under Sejanus. The gods aren’t pleased. There are more disasters to come this year, you mark my words.’

  The next prisoners brought out were two men and two women, slaves escaped from the mines. Dirty and emaciated, barely able to walk, they made a pathetic spectacle. Carbo reflected that if they hadn’t escaped, they probably wouldn’t have survived long anyway, the mines being notorious for their mortality rate.

  As non-citizens, these prisoners were not granted the kindness of a quick death by beheading. They were stripped, laid out on crosses to which they were bound wrist and ankle, and then nails driven through hands and feet. The four crosses were hauled upright and were stood in deep holes in the ground. All four prisoners were then scourged, hooks on the whip flaying the skin so blood streamed freely down their bodies. The crowd screamed and yelled, their disapproval of the clumsy beheading forgotten. The soldiers then withdrew and a lion and lioness were released into the arena. Their gaunt appearance suggested they had been deliberately starved and they instantly spied the crucified prisoners who were crying out in agony. The lioness approached the female prisoner who was screaming loudest, a little cautious from the noise, then with a speed astonishing for her size, slashed her claws across the woman’s throat, silencing her instantly. The other prisoners were soon killed, though the lion seemed more inclined to play with his prey before finishing it than the methodical lioness.

  The lions were only given a short time to eat. Handlers with tridents, poles and whips arrived to herd them away from their meals. They resisted for a short time, growling and slashing at the handlers, but they eventually bowed to the inevitable and slunk away.

  Carbo, whose eyes had been fixed to the spectacle, turned to Rufa and noticed she was trembling.

  ‘Are you well?’

  ‘They were escaped slaves,’ said Rufa simply.

  Carbo thought about it, possibly for the first time, he realized. He knew that not everyone approved of what went on in the arena, but they were in a minority, and were generally thought of as effeminate or cowardly. Why the torture and humiliation, though, rather than a quick death? Was it as a deterrent? He looked around at the cheering, smiling faces in the crowd. They didn’t seem to be dwelling on the warning. It was obviously just entertainment to them.

  The jugglers and tumblers reappeared as the carnage was cleared away, putting up with good-natured catcalls and jeers from the crowd. The announcer then returned, and the message came back up the crowds that the climax of the lunchtime entertainment had arrived. A female slave who had been convicted of conspiring to kill her mistress was to be executed in the manner of Dirce.

  ‘Who’s Dirce?’ asked Carbo of the man next to him.

  The man looked at Carbo with annoyance, but obviously thought better of antagonizing him. He shrugged, but asked the woman next to him the same question. She leaned across to Carbo.

  ‘Dirce was the aunt of Antiope, who gave birth to Amphion and Zethus after Jupiter fucked her,’ said the woman. ‘Zethus and Amphion were brung up by a shepherd, and Dirce was an evil bitch to Antiope. One day she tried to get the sons to kill Antiope by tying her to a bull, but the sons recognized their mother, and tied Dirce to the bull instead. Ain’t you read your Euripides?’

  Carbo shook his head, bemused. In the arena below, two young men, dressed in Greek-style clothing, led a huge, muscular bull by a head collar and a pole through a nose ring. A small sheepdog herded a half-dozen sheep around them. The bull snorted and pawed the ground, but consented reluctantly to be led into the middle of the arena.

  Then two guards brought out the prisoner. She was dressed in a full-length loose-fitting robe, and was struggling desperately in the powerful grip of the soldiers. Grimly they dragged her forwards, and presented her to the two men holding the bull. The men nodded, and said some words, which didn’t carry to the back of the arena. Carbo presumed it was some lines from Euripides, although the men looked more like they had been picked for their animal handling skills than their acting abilities.

  The soldiers ripped the robe from the woman, leaving her naked, and then tied a rope tight around her waist. With the bull still restrained, they tied the other end of the rope around its horns. The bull started to rear and was brought down by the strength of all four men, yanking on the ring and the collar. Working quickly, and ignoring the woman’s outstretched supplicant hands, the rope was fastened tight, leaving only a couple of feet of length between the woman and the bull’s horns. The bull bellowed its anger and reared again and this time the pole attached to the ring was yanked out of its handler’s hands. With a toss of its head, the rope on the head collar was pulled free as well. The two handlers and the two guards stepped back, then as the bull turned to face them, they ran.

  The bull charged them and the woman was jerked along with it. The crowd cheered loudly, laughing at the woman’s attempts to try to gain her feet so she could run alongside it, laughing too at the fleeing soldiers and animal handlers. One of the handlers’ sandals came loose and he stumbled. He didn’t fall, but his flight was slowed enough that he fell behind the others.

  The bull caught him. It didn’t slow, simply putting its head down and tilting it slightly. Its long horn punched through his back and protruded from the front of his chest. The bull raised its head, lifting the man, who struggled like a fly on a pin. He shook his head wildly, then tossed the man so he landed several feet away in an unmoving heap.

  The other three men had reached safety now and closed the iron gates in the arena
wall behind them. The bull looked at them in rage, then seemed to notice the woman attached to him, who was lying with arms gripping the rope, breathing heavily. It wheeled towards her and she rolled away from it as best she could. The rope was too short to give her any distance, however, and the bull’s charge had pulled the knots too tight to be undone, though she plucked at them desperately.

  The bull spun again, getting frustrated as she clambered away from it again. It tossed its head, irritated by the rope around its horns, then made a maddened charge into the centre of the arena. The woman was dragged along behind it, screaming piteously. This time, when the bull stopped and rounded on her, she was too slow. The bull stamped on her and the crunch of the bones in her leg was swiftly followed by an agonized cry which carried round the arena. The bull stamped again, breaking ribs. Then he bent his head down and lifted the woman onto his horns, impaling her with both. He snorted and tossed his head as the woman was flung around like a doll, then he charged the arena wall.

  The impact as he hit the temporary erection shuddered through every seat and the nearest of the crowd screamed as they thought they would be thrown into the arena. The structure held, though. The bull backed away, the crushed woman unmoving on his horns. He tossed her to the ground and bellowed his anger once more.

  At a hidden signal, arrows flashed out from around the arena. Struck in a dozen places, the bull roared and reared, the dead woman flung from his horns. Another dozen arrows hit home and the bull staggered to its knees, then fell to its side. It breathed heavily for a while, until the surviving animal handler, looking visibly shaken, re-emerged into the arena and cut its throat.

  The crowd went wild at the spectacle, as the slaves came out to clear away the bodies, and the acrobats, jugglers and musicians resumed their entertainment.

  Carbo looked over to Rufa, whose face was set.

  ‘She was an attempted murderess,’ he said. ‘She deserved to die.’

  ‘Not like that,’ said Rufa quietly.

  Carbo had wanted to see the gladiators. There was more of an honesty about them, especially to a soldier. A proper sporting contest, fought between equals, apart from those cases where criminals were sent out to fight armed men without a weapon or with their hands tied together. He saw the expression on Rufa’s face, though, and considered her feelings.

  ‘Would you like to leave?’

  She turned to him, showing a look of gratitude. ‘But you had been looking forward to the gladiators, hadn’t you?’

  Carbo shrugged. ‘I’ve seen plenty before. Let’s go home.’

  He offered her his hand and they stood, their seats instantly being taken by people who had been standing at the back. It took a while to work their way out through the packed crowd and through the urban cohort legionaries who lounged around, annoyed that their crowd control duties kept them from watching the spectacle. Soon, though, they stood outside the arena, in the forum.

  ‘Is it always like that?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Carbo simply.

  ‘Oh,’ said Rufa, looking down at the ground.

  ‘You needn’t come again,’ said Carbo.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Can we go home now?’

  They walked home in silence, Carbo feeling guilty for reasons he couldn’t explain. He had taken girlfriends to games before, they had all enjoyed it. They had all been free women, though, used to being allowed to see the games, raised as children on the blood and gore that the crowds loved. Maybe he should have realized that someone not used to such sights would have felt troubled by them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to her. ‘I should have realized…’

  She took his hand and moved closer to him. He looked at her and she smiled, and he felt a relief that she wasn’t angry with him, followed by a realization that this woman’s feelings really mattered to him now. Not just because of some ancient oath. Because of her.

  They turned a corner, two streets away from the tavern, and came face-to-face with Marsia. Her face was drawn with worry.

  ‘Marsia, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Master. Oh, thank Donner and Woden that you have returned. It’s Cilo and Manius. They have taken over the street outside the tavern. And they have an army!’

  Chapter XXIII

  Carbo stood with Vespillo at his side and looked steadily at Manius. Marsia had told him how Cilo and Manius had turned up a couple of hours before, calling for Carbo, shouting threats and insults. They had brought with them a group of armed men, Marsia wasn’t sure of their number, but she thought there could be as many as fifty. Carbo had felt a chill when he heard that. Marsia told him Manius’ men had taken over the tavern, helping themselves to the stocks of wine and food, and had spilled out onto the surrounding street, smashing amphorae, turning over stalls and intimidating the locals.

  Carbo had run straight to Vespillo’s house at the news, leaving Rufa there with Fabilla and Severa, and Vespillo had gathered up as many watchmen as were readily available at the nearby headquarters. The century should have numbered eighty men, but given the recruiting shortages, illness and injury, and the men who had been on patrol on the night shift who were at their homes, fast asleep, Vespillo could only call on around thirty. He had considered sending for the urban cohorts, but they were occupied with crowd control at the games and were unlikely to be interested in a minor scuffle in a back street of the Subura. He had instead sent for reinforcements to the nearest barracks, but it would take time to organize the off-duty watchmen. The men that Vespillo had rounded up were the usual mix, hardly more than thugs themselves, and yet they still carried themselves with pride in their position. They fastened on their belts and came with their commander, bringing clubs, hooks and axes. Taura joined them, grumbling that this was the urban cohorts’ job, but Carbo thought he saw a gleam in his eye.

  As they walked through the streets word started to get around and a crowd formed behind them. Most were along for curiosity and excitement, but a significant number emerged with weapons of their own, whatever they could improvise, or kept for defence of their homes. Carbo saw sticks with nails through them, kitchen knives, even a few illicit swords and daggers, probably once used in the military. Carbo himself carried a gladius that had been thrust into his hand by an elderly veteran, too arthritic to fight. It was immaculately maintained, the old man obviously still proud of his time in the army.

  More than one of the followers marched along with the discipline and bearing of veterans of the legions. By the time they arrived at the territory that Manius controlled at the eastern end of the Subura, the number of followers had doubled, not counting the thrill seekers.

  They were at a crossroads, and when Carbo saw what confronted them he muttered a silent prayer to the lares, who guarded these spiritual places. Marsia had told him that the men with Manius were not from the neighbourhood. The gang leader’s power and authority had been seriously damaged, and getting men to follow him had been difficult. He had obviously accumulated some wealth from his activities over the years, though, and Carbo assumed that the thugs that lounged around insolently in front of his tavern were hired mercenaries. Assessing their bearing, their physique, the way they held their weapons, Carbo guessed that they were a mix of legionary veterans and bored gladiators.

  Carbo cursed his own complacency. He should have known that a man like Manius, used to total respect in his own small kingdom, used to using whatever means were necessary to get what he wanted done, wouldn’t slink away like a beaten dog. He should have known that he would want to restore his pride and position, and to get his revenge. He walked towards Manius, stopping about twenty yards away. Cilo, Balbus and the rest of the troops grinned at Carbo and Vespillo. Some of the mercenaries drew their swords and waved them menacingly.

  ‘Get your men out of my tavern,’ said Carbo steadily. ‘You have taken enough beatings lately. Don’t make me give you another.’

  Manius laughed. ‘No, Carbo. This neighbourhood belongs to me. Did you really think
I would let you keep it?’

  ‘It isn’t my property, Manius, any more than it is yours. I own one tavern, the neighbourhood belongs to the citizens who live and work here.’

  A few cries of approval came from the locals who had followed Carbo or who were standing around to watch. Most, though, remained grimly silent.

  ‘These people are sheep, Carbo. Not lions like you and I.’

  ‘You aren’t a lion. Maybe a jackal, preying on the weak.’

  Manius’ eyes narrowed. ‘Give me the deeds to your tavern. Leave Rome and never come back. Or we will end this now. You will die.’ He raised his voice. ‘You will all die, all you people who are putting your trust in this man, all you little bucket boys playing at being soldiers. I will kill him, then I will let my men have their vengeance on all of you.’

  Carbo could sense the mood in the crowd – angry but scared. He weighed up the odds against him, the way he had so many times before in the legions. The mercenaries were better armed, all were carrying swords and many were wearing breastplates or other armour. They were trained fighters. They outnumbered the vigiles. On Carbo’s side he also had the citizens fighting for their homes and livelihoods, but how many, and how well, he had no idea. And what about the vigiles? What were they fighting for? These men were drawn from the lower ranks of society, held in contempt by the upper classes, by the Praetorians, the legions, even the urban cohorts. They were laughed at, resented by those whose houses they had pulled down to stop a fire spreading, or who they had punished for infringements of the fire rules or minor crimes.